The Carol Danvers Story
by Gaiden
Summary: Carol and Hank join the team after X2. Interesting things start to happen. R
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One

Carol Danvers walked up the steps to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters with a bit of an ironic grin. Yes, 'gifted'. Such an understatement.

She was accompanied by a close friend of hers, Henry McCoy. She was a reporter; he was a famous scientist who took controversial stands on the hot button mutant issue. They'd met in an interview and had become surprisingly jovial companions since then. 

Until one day he walked into her office and told her in a quiet undertone that he knew who the caped crusader Ms. Marvel was and could she please step out to speck with him for a moment. 

Somehow the angry, suspicious blonde had ended up with him on the steps of this oversize manor house, the ink of an employment agreement with its proprietor still wet. She wasn't quite sure how the charming Hank McCoy had got her to agree to this, but she was actually looking forewords to working with _the foremost authority in modern genetics. _

While they both taught high school mutants their ABC's.

It was an interesting arrangement to say the least. But somehow Carol couldn't find it within herself to be apprehensive about her choice.  Something just seemed very…right about this place. 

"Good morning Ms. Danvers, Hank" A charming African woman with a shock of the purest, most living white hair Carol had ever seen greeted them just inside the foyer. She hugged the big man close it a friendly embrace, before turning the same brilliant smile on Carol and offering her hand. 

"Carol, please, since I don't doubt we'll be working closely together." The woman's hand was rough, callused, not at all in keeping with her almost transcendent image. 

"I'm Ororo Munroe, but many will call me by my nickname: Storm." Carol found it hard to believe that someone would ever associate this calm, tranquil woman with a rough, turbulent weather phenomenon. 

"So how's it going?" Hank asked with real concern, he'd found out just recently that a colleague, and very good friend, of theirs had died, quite unexpectedly not too long ago. 

"Everything's alright" Ororo smiled tightly, a slightly shadowed expression on her face, -

"But it's good to have you back. We've missed you a lot. A great many things have happened since you've gone." 

"So I've heard," he smiled, big genuine, open expression, "But I'm home now. Is it safe to assume the Professor still has the same office?" 

"Indeed," she replied, including Carol in her amused smile, "This way." 

The house was magnificent, with enough solid wood panelling to make the Sierra Club weep in devastation. Everything was polished, but not overly so, there was a patina of use in the mansion that many of the wealthiest houses never really acquired. This residence wasn't a showplace of opulence, it was a home. 

Ororo didn't knock on the door, but a strong male voice with a faintly British accent called out a greeting as soon they'd approached. It was, naturally, the patriarch of this peculiar clan, the famous Charles Xavier. 

He wasn't the only one. There were four other people in the room. A small man with a big attitude and flyaway black hair was dressed in clothing more appropriate to a truck stop than a wealthy home, a taller, cleaner cut gentleman with red mirrored glasses fitted in like a knife to a well oiled sheath, but with an intensity that almost made Carol uncomfortable, a young gun, barely able to shave, with the ice blue eyes and an earnest, eager to please grin, and then there was the woman.

Or was it girl? Her face was still flush with the roundness of childhood, but her eyes looked like they'd seen far too much. Carol couldn't see much of anything else. She was wearing an oversize hooded sweatshirt bearing the school logo with the hood up, polished black combat boots, and khaki's that disappeared into the hem of the sweatshirt. The small man with the rough hands was rubbing her shoulder almost absently. 

"Hank" the professor greeted him warmly, "It's good to have you back" 

"May I introduce Carol Danvers?" Hank gestured, "I believe I told you about her Professor" 

"Indeed," Carol found herself the recipient of the full force of Charles Xavier's warm, intelligent gaze. "You are very welcome here Carol. Might I introduce your colleagues? This is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops." The man with the glasses, nodded in welcome, and offered a manicured hand.

"The young man on the sofa is Bobby Drake, called Iceman," The younger one leapt off the sofa with a theatrical bow and flourished a rose, made of crystal clear ice. She took it with a grin

"Do ya greet all the women ya meet with ice roses Bobby?" the accent that poured through the room was pure clover honey. Scarlett O'Hara reborn. The woman tossed her chin slightly enough to shed the heavy hood, and revealed a shockingly white widow's peak and a debutante's archly amused smile. 

"Only the beautiful ones," he joked back. 

 "Well then," she chuckled.

"Mr. Logan, who is also known as Wolverine," The trucker rolled his eyes at Bobby's antics and offered her a well worn hand. 

 "And that's Rogue," 

She glared again at Bobby with a laughing undercurrent, then turned her head, "Good Mornin' Miss. Danvers" 

"Good morning" her eyes were beer bottle green and welcoming, but she made no move to go over and shake Carol's hand. Hank walked up to the foot of her armchair, with a jovial grin that could charm chicken right off the bone. 

"I don't believe we've met Miss…"

"Rogue" she supplied, "just Rogue."

He extended his hand to her in greeting. Her whole attitude shifted. She stiffened, drew back in her chair. The tension level in the room ratcheted up so high that Carol wondered what the hell was going on. The green eyes flicked from her, to the hand to the owner of the hand.   

"Ya don't know do ya?" she said, trying to sound amused, but it came out tightly pinched.

"Know what?" Hank asked, puzzled. 

 She said it lightly, but the words carried venom, "Shakin' mah hand is a dangerous proposition Mistah McCoy." 

"A risk I'm willing to take for a lovely young lady," he said gallantly. 

A smile of real pleasure crossed her face, "Then how could I refuse such an offer?" she flirted back with the grace of a southern born lady.

 She untucked her right hand from the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt and extended it, palm down. It was gloved in a stretch knit, skin tight black, which disappeared into the cuff of the sweatshirt. He bent his head and kissed the back of her hand, like it was something he did every day. 

"Mr. Logan" Hank greeted, "I've heard a lot of you, and it's a pleasure to meet you in person." 

"Considerin' who ya heard it from I'm surprised to hear it" He gripped Hank's hand rather more firmly than was strictly necessary and glared in a friendly manner at Scott. With a reporter's eye Carol noticed that even though Scott's glasses were mirrored he was clearly returning the glare.

"Scott," the Professor was clearly trying to retain some dignity in the conversation, "…teaches Social Studies to the younger students, Ororo teaches History. Bobby is our Mathematics teacher. Mr. Logan is our Martial Arts instructor. Rogue teaches Art and Music." 

"But that's just our 'day' job" Rogue drawled, "I believe Mistah McCoy has filled you in on what we do after hours" 

"He has" Carol's throat was inexplicably dry as she suddenly wondered. What other powers did this room full of strangers have? 

"I'm a telepath" Charles suddenly said, "To answer your question. Storm is a weather witch, she can manipulate natural phenomena. Cyclops has a visor that allows him to manipulate his optic beams. Bobby can create ice out of ambient moisture. Logan…."

"SNINKT" Carol jumped at the noise as three nine inch claws slid out of the knuckles of Logan's right hand. "I heal real quick too" he said with a wicked grin. 

"Ah yes" the Professor said with an indulgent smile, "And I believe that Rogue is best to describe her gift." 

"I'm a conductor" Rogue said tightly, "Whenever ah touch someone ah absorb their memories, their life, and if it's a mutant, their powers. It ain't pretty, for either one of us." She drew her flawless complexion into a frown, momentarily absorbed in a stray thought, "So what's your thang?" the belle asked suddenly. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well ya wouldn't be here if ya didn't have one" 

"True" Carol was somehow annoyed, and so she decided to demonstrate rather than describe. She lifted herself up into the air, head brushing the high ceiling, and flew, dropping down in front of Rogue. 

"Groovy" the young woman smiled. 

"I'm indestructible. Can't be hurt. I can also lift just about anything. Cars. Trains. Planes." 

'Sounds like fun" Bobby said eagerly. 

Carol smiled indulgently, "It has its moments."     


	2. Chapter 2

Counter Terrorist 

It was a few weeks before the start of term. Xavier had suggested to Carol that she take the time to 'get acclimated' to what life in the mansion was all about.

 He wasn't kidding. 

Life at the mansion began at a rousing six AM with a brisk morning PT. Never really ever having any kind of need for physical training Carol was totally wiped out by the time she hit the showers at about eight. PT was one part GI Jane, one part Crouching Tiger, and one part Survivor. 

When she made that point that physical training was really a bit of a joke with her powers, Logan just yanked the foul smelling stogie from his mouth and barked, "It's not about yer physical capabilities pipsqueak, it's about discipline. Clearly you ain't got none. 'Nother lap round Danvers."  

 Some of the older students also had PT at this ungodly hour. There was an oversize Russian 'farmer' who looked like he'd pick up the whole tractor if you asked him to point the way, a German acrobat that swung his prehensile tail with courtly grace, a slight, sprightly slip of a girl who looked like a good strong wind would snap her in half, and a California 'valley' girl with snapping gum and a suitably outrageous accent.

She was informed that they were 'trying out', so to speak, for the real team. They'd been students the year before. They'd passed stringent physical, psychological, and educational testing before they were allowed the option of training with the 'regulars'. 

Xavier had been careful to weed through glory hounds, students who thought being an X-Man was glamorous. He also picked students who could excel at teaching and managing a large group of people. They had to be courageous, dedicated, and above all they had to work well as a team. 

Not all of those who'd been given the option took it. Many just wanted to live a normal life after high school, or at least as normal as a mutant's life could ever be. The death of Jean Grey was a big factor in several students mind, Xavier had told her, and some just didn't want to risk it.

Not that she blamed them, the life of a commando wasn't exactly fun; up at dawn, out till all hours of the day and night, on call at a moment's notice, never really getting the chance to just lay it all down a go home. But Carol had chosen that for herself, in becoming Ms. Marvel, all this was just making her contribution a group effort. 

"Carol?" a voice outside her door asked timidly. 

"It's open," she replied, brushing the last drips of water from her chin length butter blond hair. 

"Um, hey, uh we're all meeting down in the dining room for breakfast if you wanted to…" Bobby trailed off, as he stuck his head in her room. 

"Yeah sure," she set the brush down and joined him, "it's a good thing you came by I'm not exactly sure where the dining room is." 

"Figured," he said with a grin, "It a big mansion, we try not to loose too many newbies." 

He led her down a series of hallways, she tried to keep track by marking the turns in her head, but he just laughed, "You'll get used to the place pretty quick, I actually find it easier to navigate by the artwork. See here is George the Third, we turn left, we get Admiral Nelson, we turn right we get George Washington. The dining room is in early Lewis and Clark so we head towards Cornwallis." He pointed at a picture of the defeated British general. 

"That's crazy.' She muttered. 

"Hey works for me" he grinned again, "Here we are" 

The dining room had several long rectangular tables and a few smaller circular tables scattered around what looked to have once been a ballroom. She recognised all the team members and quite a few of the lucky people who got to sleep in. 

He steered them towards a table with one jeans clad individual who had her chair back on two legs with a coffee cup cradled gently in her lap, feet braced on the table top to keep the chair from tipping.

"Good morning Rogue," she said cheerfully, only to be met with a stare as black as the coffee. Before this, Carol hadn't realized emerald eyes could turn quite so cold.

"S'matter of opinion" she growled, sipping slowly from the steaming mug. Carol caught Bobby shaking his head with a clear she's-not-a-morning-person shake.

BAMF!

She damn near jumped out of her chair when the young German acrobat suddenly teleported into the space beside her. He smiled a toothy smile and gave a courtly bow. For all that the man was blue and slightly furry, he really was a charmer.

"Gutentag" he bowed over her hand and brought it to his mouth for a slightly tickly kiss. 

"I'll Guten your tag in a minute fuzzy." Rouge growled again, but Kurt seemed unimpressed. 

"Don't vorry about her," he said merrily, settling into a graceful slouch, "De Frauline does not function vithout the first cup."

"I see" then Carol thought a minute, she hadn't seen Rogue at PT this morning. "So where were you while the rest of us were out slogging with the Wolverine?"

It was meant to be a joke, but Bobby winced and Kurt lowered his head, Rogue turned the full force of her take-no-prisoners glare on Carol and ground out, "There was a little…accident last night, I needed some time to deal with if that's alright with you" 

"She didn't mean anything by it, Rogue, don't get all pissy with her," Bobby defended Carol to the surly southerner who growled, and tossed back the rest of her coffee. 

"Ah'm outta here," she ground out, but Bobby wrapped his hand around her wrist as she tried to leave. She jerked herself out of his grip, face gone pale. "Dammit Bobby, don't touch me!" 

She looked shaken, her hands trembled a bit in their bottle green gloves, Bobby…well Bobby for a moment looked angry. "I'm not going to hurt you Rogue." 

"Ah know, it's just…"her voice faded away, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly and said tightly, "Look I had a rough night ok?"

"Speaking of which," Kurt opened a pocket of his trousers, "From Herr Professor," and pulled out a revolving one-a-day pill dispenser. "Just in case." 

She looked a bit ashamed of her outburst, and took the case with a tight nod, "Thanks" 

He bowed slightly and Bobby let her practically flee form the table. Carol wondered what the hell was going on. It must have been plain enough on her face, because Bobby sighed and pushed a mug of coffee in front of her.

"Rogue has got some problems, Carol." He rubbed the back of his neck absently, "Whenever she touches some one she imprints a copy of their memories, their personality if you will, onto her psyche. It messes her up for a while until she gets it worked out in her head. The Professor has some stuff that helps…but it's really just her trying to keep control of it. Last night one of the younger kids, Cannonball, wasn't looking where he was going and charged full into her. She spent most of last night in the Quiet Room in the lab trying to keep a lid on things." 

"She's on psychotropic medication?" 

"Zoloft, Valium, some other stuff, just for emergencies," Bobby shrugged, "Keeps her from getting out of control, and believe me no one wants that"

"And why does the professor let her out with the team?" Carol was flabbergasted. One of her team members, who she was supposed to rely on, was on medication for not being too tightly wrapped. 

"Because she's earned it," Bobby said, sounding dead serious, "Ask her to tell you about that streak in her hair sometime. She risks everything every single time she goes out there. Every time it happens she puts her sanity on the line and by God if she's got your back she won't hesitate. There is not a safer person in the world to put your trust in because if she gives her word she'll move heaven and earth."

 "Ja" Kurt agreed, "No questions asked"  

"Seems kind risky" Carol ventured, hesitant because of Bobby's outburst. 

"Being Rogue is risky," Kurt laughed, showing his sharp, rough fangs, "but she still does it every day. Don't ever underestimate the Rogue."

"I'll keep that in mind."  Privately Carol wondered what the hell she'd gotten herself into. 

Later that afternoon Scott cornered Carol, "Hey, about you taking over my English classes…"

"Yes," she pushed away from the desk; Carol had been trying to work out the grades from last term. It seemed very haphazard. 

"Well it wasn't just my class," Scott went on, "We all had to chip in the time from our other stuff," he went on, "I know the grade book and syllabus and everything are a but messed up, but if you want to know the safest place to ask about that is probably the kids themselves." 

"You trust them to be honest about the grades they got?" asked Carol, in her experience, children, even ones who would usually be honest, sometimes stretched the limits when faced with this kind of situation. 

"Of course," Scott said, sounding faintly confused, "They all know that lying about something isn't going to get them anywhere. It's one of the Professor's main rules. Whatever you've done, you're only going to dig yourself deeper lying about it." 

"I doesn't hurt that he's telepathic either, huh?" she said jokingly. 

"The Professor doesn't believe in using his powers to coerce anyone Carol" Scott said severely, "It's unethical."

"Whoa, hey, I was just joking, alright." Carol almost physically backed up, this guy's intensity was scary, he didn't seem to know how to take a bit of humour. 

"Here's the file," Scott, thumped down a slight manila envelope, "You should probably get in contact with the rest of us and catch up on last term." He made an almost army-like about face and strode purposefully out the back door.     

.  


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

If there was one thing Carol was certain of, it was that Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters wasn't your average high school. For one thing Carol never remembered her days in school fondly; high school had been something of a necessary evil. These kids loved their school. 

There wasn't a 'clique' set. No 'popular' people. Sure there was a bit of an elitist thing going on with some of the older students, especially those who planned on joining the X-Men, but it wasn't mean spirited. The older students took their perceived responsibility towards the younger ones very seriously. 

It was less of a school and more like one big extended family. Sure there were squabbles over who 'borrowed' this movie, or who was tops in the foosball and pool lists, but there was, on the part of everyone a real dedication to the school and to the others. 

Point in fact; Carol had a rude awakening on her first full day of being a teacher. Bobby Drake, the young gun, had waltzed into her room, while she was sound asleep and in her nightgown, mind, woke her up none to gently and said she better hurry up if she didn't want to miss PT.

If she hadn't been so whacked at it being six in the morning, she would have thrown a fit. Who did he think he was just walking in like that? She had dressed and got to the field just in time to get barked at by Logan. 

Her day seemingly taking a turn for the sour, she didn't even make it to class before the bell rang. Instead of finding the usual milling about she remembered from her own high school experience, or worse, roughhousing and pandemonium, the kids had settled into reading. There was an attendance chart lettered on the chalkboard, everyone who was there had scrawled their name, and if someone was absent they'd listed them. 

"Sorry about that," she breathlessly apologised, somewhat taken aback at the class taking over themselves. 

"S'ok" one of the younger kids chirruped, "Happens all the time." 

"Mr. Summers mentioned that you needed some stuff from last term," one of the older students, John Proudstar, jerked his head in the direction of two sheets of paper that were circulating. "We're listing what we read and our grades from last term."

"Thanks" she said, somewhat flabbergasted. These were children right? There were no body snatchers or pod people? But when she looked around there were nothing but kids, ensconced in the various chairs in the library, where classes were held. 

When she went to the teacher's desk and looked out on the assembled class she was again struck with the remarkable self-sufficiency of these 'kids'. The older ones sat with the younger, occasionally helping when asked. True, they were all laying about in a somewhat haphazard fashion, but in the absence of a teacher they'd done remarkably.  

"Here you go Ms. Danvers" one of the young kids handed her the sheets of paper. There was 'Grade Level' listed and the books that fit the level, going all the way down to fifth and up to unidentified 'college'. The other one was a list of names and numbers. Not all of them were entirely accurate, Sam Guthrie listed his as "80-ish???" but it was a start.    

"Excuse me?" every head in the room swivelled to stare at her. "First of all, I'd like to congratulate you for getting this" she tapped the papers on the desk, "done for me, it was very helpful. Now I'd like to get started on your current assignment…Yes?" 

"Um…" a pale faced young girl, no more than twelve, raised her hand, "Well you see, we, all of us, are working on stuff. Miss. Munroe asked me to read and record my observations on this" she held up a copy of Arabian nights, "I know John is doing something for Wolverine." 

"Yeah, Sun Tzu, the Art of War," the husky Indian agreed, "We're all kinda doing our own stuff. Whenever we run out of assignment someone's usually there to give us a new thing." 

"I see," Carol sighed, her carefully laid out lesson plan up in tatters, "How many of you are currently finished with your assignments?" Two hands raised, "Turn them in please." 

They obediently handed in the papers. On was a research topic on the life and works of Euclid. The other was an anthology of self-authored poetry. "Do you have the original assignment sheet?"  

They turned that in as well, one was a typed, single spaced sheet of paper with a full formal heading and a checklist of specifics about what must be in the paper and how he wanted it written. Predictably it was from Scott. The other was a heavy sheet torn out of a sketchbook, written in a flowing calligraphic hand in what looked like India ink by a fountain pen. The assignment was brazenly open ended and without any kind of judgement criteria. She didn't need to look at the graceful signature to know it was Rogue's handiwork. 

The two kids who turned them in were Sam Guthrie and his sister, Paige. She had no clue what to do with them, but knew she couldn't leave them with nothing to do. "Do you know what a 'spin doctor' is?" 

"A band?" Sam suggested.

"It's someone who tries to present information in a certain way to convince you that they're right." Paige answered confidently, smacking her brother. 

"Yes," Carol latched on to her definition, "Newspapers and magazine often do this. They try and influence public opinion. I want you to read…at least eight periodicals, serious news journals, mind" she gave Sam a stern look, "and write up an explanation of their 'spin' and why you think it's that way, alright?"

"Sure," Paige grinned. 

"How long does it have to be?" asked Sam suspiciously.

Carol immediately grasped the nature of his question, "Like a bikini, long enough to cover the subject and short enough to keep it interesting."  

There was a collective chuckle, and Sam realized he'd been suckered. "Yes Ms. Danvers." He grumbled.

"Alright then," she grinned, back on firm ground, she addressed the rest of the class, "Is there a list of your assignments or are you just freelancing this?"

"Um," John shook his head, "You could probably check with the rest of them, although I can't see Cyclops, I mean Mr. Summers, not giving you his list already. If you wanna check it out that's no problem, we can keep a lid on ourselves." 

"So I see," Carol thought about it for a second, her lesson plan was shot to hell and she'd just pulled the assignment for Sam and Paige out of thin air, it might well be worth it to get all of the information together before things got out of hand. "That sounds like a plan, John, can I hold you responsible for the class?" 

"Sure thing," he acknowledged seriously, as if it were a life or death kind of matter, "Ain't nothing get gonna get past me." 

"Good," She nodded briskly, suddenly wondering where she was going to start, she'd learned a lot about the mansion but she still wasn't exactly sure where everything was, like the class rooms. 

"Rogue is the closest," a young woman with bright purple hair suggested, as if she knew Carol's predicament, "The studio is right down the hall and three doors down on the left." 

"Thanks…."

"Betsy," the young girl supplied, she had a strong British accent, "No problems then."

The studio was a very large, well lit room in the front of the building. It was, at the moment, sheer pandemonium, there was a radio going in one corner tuned to a classic rock station. There had to be at least two dozen kids, each in the process of creating a priceless work of art. Some were drawing, Carol saw a darkroom near the back, and there were easels out all over the place. Watercolours, oils, pastels, ink and brush, just about everything was going on all at once.  

"Rogue?" Carol asked helplessly, not seeing the distinctive white stripe anywhere. Then Carol saw the young woman, she was painting from the window seat, the back of her canvas pointing at the class and concealing her from obvious view. She walked over, dodging paint splatters and stray droplets of ink, and reached the easel. 

"Uh, Rogue?" she reached out to tap her shoulder, when on of the children caught her arm. The girl, shook her head slightly and then called out in a clear voice. 

"Miss Rogue?" 

"Just a minute sugah," she said absently, adding a bit more red paint to whatever she was working on before dipping her brush in turpentine and wiping it off on a smudged cloth. "Yeesss?" she drawled finally looking up. 

"Ms. Danvers is here to talk to you." The girl apparently satisfied her job was done, turned back to her painting. 

"I was just going to check with you about the English class assignments," Carol felt almost fidgety under Rogue's unblinking, slightly flat gaze, "Paige Guthrie…the poetry …English class?" 

"Oh," she frowned a bit, as if trying to recall, "Yeah, gimme a sec," Rogue snapped off a pair of surgical gloves, schmeared with multicoloured paint. From elbow to fingertip, her arms were now bare. From under the window seat, she pulled a pair of black leather, opera length gloves. She pulled them on to her hands, all the way up to the sleeve of her baby T, and took almost a full minute to button every single one of the tiny jet buttons along the inside elbow.

She pushed the easel back a slight bit, to allow her out of the seat, and then drew the curtain behind her with a wink, "Scott's birthday present" she explained. Then she grabbed a full length, hooded green jacket, which she threw carelessly on. She clapped her hands and the entire room fell silent, but for the radio in the corner. "Ok people, ah actually have to be teacher here, keep it to a dull roar."

Automatically they fell to a much quieter tempo. Rogue grinned again at Carol, a full, ready gesture, and trotted over to a full oak desk, currently used as a drafting board.

"Shoo! Off the teacher's desk" she slouched into the dusty chair and buried her head in the drawer. 

"C'mon Miss Rogue, we're almost done!" one of the boys protested. 

Rogue took the boy's face in her gentle, gloved hands and said, "Pies and cakes are done lovey, people are finished." 

"Yeah, yeah I know," the boy said heavily, at her arched brow, he responded more quickly, "I mean, yes Miss Rogue."  

"Remind me again what ya need" Rogue asked Carol, pulling out a good old fashioned ledger book out of one of the drawers.

"A list of assignments for the English classes you took over and some grades." Carol asked dubiously, not expecting Rogue to be able to produce anything. 

"Groovy," she flipped a few pages and smiled, "Here we go. Wanna copy?" 

To Carol's obvious surprise she had neatly listed the people and assignments for 'her' English classes. Everything was copied down into ht ledger, with small chalk marks for competed assignments. As Carol watched, Rogue pulled out an inkwell and quill and began to copy the page exactly, with a speed a rapidity that made her breathless. 

"There ya are shugah," Rogue grinned, she had a neat even hand, as though it was the process of writing that was the fun, not the result, "Anything else while I'm actually being a teacher?" 

"Not that I can think of…"

Suddenly the class was interrupted by a loud, deep siren. It was the alarm klaxon. The X-Men were being called to duty. The class fell silent. Rogue sprang into action. 

"Alright y'all, ya know the drill." She stood up on the desk to better administrate her class. "Everyone clean up, head back to the dorms and common areas. Group leaders report to the Professor's study. Ah want this to be clean and quick, alright?" 

The class moved as one to put away the art supplies in their pre-ordained location, stow away canvasses. And return the room to, what Carol recognised as a slightly rumpled but orderly room. 

"C'mon Carol," Rogue said with a wink, "Time to save the world."  


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Hey Jones" Rogue greeted the young teen in a familiar manner. He turned from the wall of television screens and took out the pea-sized headphones. 

"Hey Rogue" he greeted back as if it was some kind of ritual. He turned back to the screen. 

"We're partners in insomnia," Rogue explained to Carol, at her slightly puzzled glance. "Jones has some kinda mental remote control. We just put him in front of a screen and….well look at him go" 

"Yes," Jones agreed, absently, Carol watched the channels flick rapidly as he blinked his eyes, "But I don't need to sleep. You choose not to" 

"Mah prerogative" she replied, chiding him mildly. A sudden _BAMF heralded the arrival of Kurt. He bowed gracefully to the two women and waited. Presently the whole team: Cyclops, Beast, Wolverine, Storm, Jubilee, Iceman, Colossus, Shadowcat, and, of course, the Professor, arrived in the Situation Room. _

As soon as the whole team settled, Jones, seemingly unaware of his rapt audience, flicked all of the TV's to one wide screen channel. 

"…Police have surrounded the residence. The assailant is believed to be a mutant, around the age of seventeen. Police have not confirmed the identity of the hostages, but it suspected that they are the owners of the house, Jon and Patsy Burgeon." The blonde, very southern news anchor cut to a camera on scene. 

Jones killed the sound and said matter-of-factly, "I've hacked the mainframe of the Caldecott County Sheriff's office. They haven't yet been able to get a hold of the FBI. Or rather what they think is the FBI. I assume you're gonna plat the SWAT card again?" 

" Yeah, if we don't it'll only be a matter of time before this spreads into a national spectacle. We need to get in the air. Now." Cyclops adopted his fearless leader persona. "Bobby, Peter, home guard"   

The Russian monolith simply bowed his head in acknowledgement. Bobby looked distinctly unhappy. It was clear he didn't want to stay back, but after the attack on the school, which resulted in the abduction of six students, Cyclops took his 'homeland security' very seriously. 

"Let Bobby go" Rogue said softly. Cyclops nearly lost his visor as his head whipped around. 

"What do you mean?" asked Bobby, now angry that his girlfriend was trying to cover for him.  

"Ah can't go back down there." She said thickly, "It'd do y'all more harm than good." 

"Fair enough" Logan said challengingly, daring Cyclops to disapprove. 

"We need you," Cyclops said flatly, "If things get out of hand you're the only one who can put a lid on it." 

"Y'all did it before Ah came here, y'all can do it again without me." Rogue said defiantly, "Ah ain't goin' back to Mississippi."

"You have to face it eventually," Storm said softly. 

"Then ah'll do it on my terms." The Rogue was not moved.

"We need you," Cyclops said shortly, "I can't let you stay here." 

    "Jesus one-eye, if she don't wanna go don't make her go. That's bad for everyone." The Wolverine growled. 

"Yeah really, I mean, no offence chica" Jubilee snapped her gum. 

Cyclops ignored them both. "Storm, Kitty, you have B & E. Hank, Kurt, you've got Blackbird detail. Logan, Carol, you two and I are going in head to head. Jubilee and Rogue, you're the Hush Puppies." 

"Scott…" the Professor began.

"We need her," Scott cut him off bluntly; "She can neutralize a situation gone out of control. No one else can." He turned to face her, "You can stay out of sight, and you don't need to talk to anyone, just run our surveillance, and stay out of the thick of things." 

"Damnit one-eye," Logan threatened. 

"S'all right," Rogue cut him off, putting a calming hand on his bicep, "He does have a point. Y'all need me."  

Her assent seemed to settle the matter and the team went in the locker room to change. They only had one locker room. Carol was somewhat startled as Scott, Logan, and Kurt all began to strip off their outer garments as if it was no big deal. 

Strom must have caught her deer-in-the-headlights gaze because she smiled, "Believe me Carol, after a while you don't even notice." 

The African woman had already shed her shirt and was working on the buckle of her belt. Jubilee, who had the locker next to Storm, was merrily cursing at her stubborn boot. The only one who didn't look thoroughly unselfconscious was Rogue, who slunk off into a deserted corner to pull on her gear.

That was thoroughly understandable, all things considered. Her uniform was different from the others though. She had a sleeveless jumpsuit that cut short around her knees, like a cycling jersey, with a leather jacket over the torso and long boots. She also carried two gigantic handguns, one under each arm. She was the only one of the team overtly armed. 

As Carol watched, she slipped two monster handguns into the empty holsters. She frowned; the professor had told her explicitly that the X-Man didn't kill, but there was really only one purpose for a handgun. She didn't have an opportunity to argue, they all piled up into the Blackbird under Cyclops's supervision and finished the pre-mission prep in the air. 

Logan, Scott, and Carol all donned SWAT gear over their jumpsuits. Jones was going to relay that the FBI was sending in a crack 'mutant' unit to handle the situation. In reality, the FBI was never going to know. 

Shadowcat and Storm pulled on a slimmer, more sleek version of the uniform, with climbing boots, thin leather gloves, and short, removable panels of bulletproof body armour. They also equipped with climbing lines and pitons, they were responsible for breaking and entering. Anywhere

It was Rogue and Jubilee who took the longest to arm. They both wore long matrix-esque jackets made of slashed up burlap and canvas. It made them look like snipers. Then to Carol's surprise, Rogue fetched a long box and opened it to reveal a very intimidating sniper rifle. 

"I thought the X-Men didn't use guns?" Carol finally got the opportunity to ask.

"They're tranq's" Jubilee, grinned and held up a clip of the dart-like ammunition. "Takes a page out of their own book, the bastards, that's why we're the Hush Puppies. When things get out of hand, I flash 'em she narc's 'em" she held up her hand with a globule of plasmoid, it exploded leaving Carol temporarily blinded and forming spots in front of her eyes.

"Natural dead shot, trained her myself," Wolverine grunted from a few chairs up. 

"Is that so?" Carol said teasingly, but then when Rogue didn't respond, she asked, "Rogue?" 

"Non" a voice, with a light, cheerful and completely French accent said. It was Rogue's body but clearly, Rogue wasn't home. "C'est Beatrix, Rogue es….busy" 

"Is she alright in there?" asked Hank, the new team physician, cautiously, several of Rogue's personalities had tried desperately to 'get out' of her head through self-mutilation. 

"Oui" the Quebec answered, "Tres bien…Ah, whoops, sorry" Rogue's southern drawl returned suddenly, "Just a little… mental housekeeping." 

"Housekeeping?" Carol wondered at the sanity of someone who slipped personas so easily, "That was vaguely disturbing" 

"Who was it?" Rogue asked curiously, carefully oiling and assembling the large firearm.  

"Beatrix" Kurt supplied, from the next chair over, seemingly fascinated with the process of building a weapon. 

"Oh yeah, she don't speak English. Sorry" Rogue finished the gun and hefted it admiringly, then set it down at her feet, like an admiring sheepdog, before digging in her jacket pocket for a small, round tin of Red Man chewing tobacco.    

"Rogue…" Storm said admonishingly.

"Hey don't look at me, blame that guy on my nicotine addiction." She pointed a finger at Logan, "Just be thankful I don't smoke them nasty cigarillos." 

"Yeah thank heaven for small favours." Jubilee handed Rogue an empty coke can as a spittoon. The joshing and ribbing continued for a few more minutes until it was time to land and everyone but Carol, Logan, and Scott donned heavy Nomex baklavas, partly to conceal their faces, but partly because a pyromaniac was on the loose and working for the wrong side. The three of them put on black watch caps. 

"Ok people, we're the SWAT team. Try and act like it. With any luck we can get this done quick and painless." Cyclops pulled the SWAT vest over his own gear.

They landed amidst three Caldecott County Deputy Patrol vehicles and two 'police' trucks, that had 'police' stencilled in white paint over the homegrown Army camouflage. 

"Heads up Tubby," an equally stout deputy warned the Sheriff elect, "Feds" 

"Officers," Cyclops bowed his head to the Sheriff, "We're here to assist in the mutant situation." 

"An' jus' who th' hell invited you to th' party?" his accent was a cheap copy of Rogue's but less cultured. She was the Lady of the plantation house. He was the hired help. They had one similarity. The Sheriff spat tobacco juice all over Carol's boots.

"Your dispatch got through to the FBI mutant response hotline an hour ago." Cyclops said evenly, "We're expected." 

Of all of them, Logan, Carol, and Scott were the only ones who looked the part. Storm and Shadowcat were too lithe and slender to be heavy hitting paramilitaries. Jubilee and Rogue were far too petite and curvy to fit the androgynous image of the uniform.           

  "Since when were wimmin' SWAT grunts?" one of the Deputies boldly challenged.

There was a slight whiffing sound, like when bee flies too close to your face, and the sheriff shouted loudly as his hat flew off. In Rogue's hand was a silenced .22, a gun Carol didn't even know she had. 

"Holy mother of god," the deputy who picked it up displayed the perfect bulls-eye through the badge of his smoky the bear hat.

"This 'wimmin' can waste a gnat's ass at a hundred yards, bub," Rogue growled, sounding for a moment like a female Wolverine. She hefted the rifle menacingly. The unspoken message was 'mess with me, please'. 

The Sheriff looked furious, but stepped aside for Cyclops, who only looked a little less furious and glared at Rogue. As they turned, everyone heard the Sheriff mutter the n-word under his breath as Ororo passed. The black woman chuckled, apparently amused at the garden-variety bigot. It was a strange world you lived in when an average bigot was something of a relief. 

"You know the drill people," Cyclops barked.

Storm and Shadowcat slid, bonelessly past the house to secure the back of the property. No one was going in or out. Rogue and Jubilee just blended, seamlessly, into the kudzu. 

    "Cyclops, check one" he activated the earpiece built in his visor. 

"Storm, check two"

"Nightcrawler, check three" he and Hank were in the plane. He was the MedEvac Hank was the EMT. 

"Rogue… checks all" She and Jubilee were the eyes and ears of the operation. Between the scope on the rifle and the binoculars, they could probably count the scales on the gnat before Rogue blew it away.

"Let's get it on" Cyclops ordered.                   


End file.
